


I'm a Bad Man (But I'm Still Your Man)

by overratedantihero



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Attempted Duplicity, Couple bickering, Finding Evidence, Hurt/Comfort, Late night cuddling, M/M, Mention of Fear Gas, Mention of Physical Assault, Non Graphic Description of Assassination, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Slade comes home late after a messy job. Unfortunately for him, Dick wakes up in time to find evidence of Slade's unsavory activities.





	I'm a Bad Man (But I'm Still Your Man)

**Author's Note:**

> I really like the song "Bad Woman" for Dick/Slade. This was written with that song in mind.

Slade slid open the window soundlessly. He’d greased it before he left, for this exact reason. He slipped inside and stepped lightly onto the plush carpet. The room was dark, except for the soft glow of the Nightwing night light that Dick had insisted on purchasing when they stumbled across it in the store. Slade couldn’t complain, it cast pretty shadows across the planes of Dick’s exposed torso (there were fresh scratches, across his chest and up his arms. The kind that would heal without scarring, but Slade’s curiosity was piqued.) The blankets were bunched around his waist, a sure sign he was too hot. But Slade didn’t dare turn up the A/C lest the sound wake Dick.

And so, he tiptoed across the room to the bathroom, where, after closing the door, he shed his gear as gingerly as he feasibly could with the weight and mass of it all. But it was crucial that Dick not see the state of his bloodied uniform, confirmed when an acrylic nail fell loose from the fabric. Slade made a face and tossed it in the trash before shoving his uniform in the cabinet beneath the sink. His weapons he left out; he always cleaned his weapons on site.

A shower would certainly rouse Dick and even draw Dick to the bathroom, so Slade checked himself over, spot cleaned for sweat and blood using a wet wipe, and then deemed himself acceptable. For good measure, he splashed a touch of aftershave over his face. He’d known Dick to smell blood, best address that potentiality. Then, he turned off the light, opened the door, and creeped across the room.

He crawled beneath the covers beside Dick and wrapped an arm around Dick’s exposed waist. Dick blearily opened his eyes and looked up at Slade. Slade remembered he’d left his eyepatch on and hoped that Dick’s sleep addled mind didn’t process the oddity.

“You’ve been away,” Dick slurred. “Missed you.” He burrowed his face into Slade’s chest and inhaled deeply. Slade’s silently cursed when he felt Dick’s pulse jump. “You smell like aftershave and sweat,” Dick muttered into Slade’s skin, so low it was almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“Trimmed my face,” Slade murmured gruffly. “Didn’t take a full shower.”

Slade bit back a sigh of relief as Dick relaxed against him again.

“Oh,” Dick murmured, sliding a leg between Slade’s and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Where’d you go? Dis’peared for four whole days. Got worried,” Dick whined. Questions meant lucidity. Slade ran fingers through Dick’s hair and then he stroked patterns down Dick’s back to lull him back to sleep.

“Sh, little bird. I didn’t go anywhere. Wintergreen wanted to meet for drinks at the Iceberg. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

Slade felt Dick’s eyelashes brush against his skin when Dick blinked. “I called Wintergreen. He said you and he were golfing in Rhode Island.”

“Yes, well,” Slade murmured, losing his optimism. “That would have been a better excuse than the Iceberg Lounge.”

Dick wiggled away from Slade and then sat up to sit cross legged on the bed. The sheets spilled from his hips to pool in his lap and across his thighs. Heaven help the kid, he was wearing tight bikini briefs that he had no business wearing right before what was sure to be a fight. Dick stretched, and Slade took the opportunity to straddle his lap and run a hand through his hair while the other tugged at the hem of Dick’s attire.

“These are new,” Slade murmured. Dick frowned at the visible scratches on his own arms and then his eyes widened.

“Oh. Those. While you were gone, Jason surprised me. Then he told me to stop sleeping naked, but I don’t like to wear anything to sleep, so this was our compromise.” Dick’s eyebrows knitted further. “Slade, what did you do?”

Slade kissed his forehead. “Nothing important, pretty bird. Let’s go to bed, we can talk in the morning.”

Dick reached up and tucked his fingers into Slade’s hair, under the eyepatch’s string. He lifted his hand, fingers now tangled in the eyepatch, and removed it. “You never sleep in that,” Dick accused. “Also, you used my aftershave, not yours.”

Slade looped a hand around Dick’s waist and laid down on his back, dragging Dick with him. He arranged Dick so that Dick’s head rested against his peck, with Dick’s arm across his stomach.

“I was tired when I came in. Used the wrong aftershave. Forgive me, kid.”

Dick shook his head. “You did something.” There again, the brush of eyelashes as Dick closed his eyes. “You killed someone.”

“Go to sleep, Dick,” Slade murmured. Slade flinched as he felt a warm tear drop smear against his chest. “No, no, no, kid. Kid,” Slade sat up, pulling Dick up to cradle him in his lap. Dick blinked up at him, eyes glassy. Something in Slade cracked, but he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“You knew what I was,” Slade murmured. “This was your decision.”

Dick reached up and rubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m tired. It’s been a long week. You wouldn’t know, you weren’t here for it.”

Slade couldn’t hold back his heavy sigh. “What happened? I’m here now. Just tell me what happened so that we can go to bed and stop pretending that my work is news to you.”

Dick’s glare was immediate and devoid of what affection there had been. There was nothing empathetic, nothing gentle in this expression. Dick’s eyes were worse than stony, they bore disgust. Slade, the subject of that disgust, shivered. Slade loved Dick’s anger, and he’d lap it up every chance he got. Even if he was the recipient.

“Crane gassed a crowded room. They tore each other to pieces,” Dick clarified, strain threaded amid the anger in his voice. “Most survived. The hospital’s trauma unit has its hands full.”

Slade shifted, pulling Dick just a smidgen tighter against himself. “Were you exposed?”

He could kill Crane. He could kill Crane easily. Slade didn’t fear, and he wouldn’t even need a weapon to wring that thin neck.

“No,” Dick answered, slumping against Slade as exhaustion seemed to win out over his irritation. “I was there, in the crowd. But I had my suit in a bag, including my rebreather. Had to hurt a few civilians to incapacitate them… I hope they forgive me.”

Slade quirked his eyebrows. “They won’t remember it was you.”

Dick shrugged before reaching up and playing with Slade’s hair. “Maybe they won’t. I can’t say, at least not right now. But do you know the worst part of it all?” Dick’s voice was distant, dreamy. Slade didn’t trust that the tone wasn’t inflected but worry still burrowed in the pit of his stomach.

“What was the worst part?”

Dick’s fingers stilled. “There was this woman. She was clawing at me. I kept her from tearing into my throat, but I don’t think she would have been able to anyway. While she scratched and bit, her acrylic nails chipped off, almost one by one. I had a couple caught in my suit. I’m glad I wasn’t in uniform, that fabric would have torn each and every one from her fingers.” Dick drew his fingers from Slade’s hair.

Without seeing what was clutched in Dick’s palm, Slade knew. He closed his eyes and cursed himself for letting one of his targets get so close. For not taking a proper shower and searching himself more thoroughly. For letting an acrylic nail get caught in his hair.

“Who was she, Slade?” Dick asked, voice suddenly small as he looked up from his eyelashes. Slade took a steadying breath and then began to describe her to Dick. He started with just her features, and then he explained that she was the wife of a mobster in New York.

As Slade spoke, Dick kept his head tucked down. He rolled the acrylic nail around in his palm as Slade talked about how her husband was a clean kill, but then she started grabbing at Slade and begging. But she would have inherited the Target’s wealth and empire, and that made her a target too. So, Slade killed her. She was so close he was forced to use a knife. Messy business, and it was never meant to be.

“Couldn’t be a sniper, could you,” Dick murmured, although Slade was surprised at the teasing tone.

“No. There’s no honor in shooting someone who can’t see you, or face you,” Slade murmured. “Even when hunting. I don’t shoot from afar.”

“I know,” Dick murmured.

They were silent for a spell, curled up against each other as if they could shield the other from the deep divide that neither could cross. Dick would never kill, would never behave too far outside the rigid morality of his upbringing. Slade couldn’t abide by a morality, wouldn’t acknowledge that there could be a dichotomy of morals.  

Slade buried his face in Dick’s hair.

“I’m a bad man,” Slade murmured. “I know I hurt you. But I’m still yours.”

Dick shook Slade loose so that he could look up at him. “There’s something behind that too. You’re still a person, Slade. A person worth investment, worth saving. It’s not a pretty story. But it’s ours. I won’t give up on it.”  

“Good boy,” Slade murmured. “Good boy.”

 

 


End file.
